


until we can no longer hold the sky

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Rebirth, Sky Flames Harry Potter, rewriting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a gesture that becomes commonplace for them, a meeting between Sun and Sky. And for the six months that it lasts, Renato thinks, those are the happiest moments of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is on a sunny day in southern France, not a half mile away from one of the country's prettier beaches, that Reborn meets the most important person in his life.

 

Of course, this is in the days when there was no Reborn, World's Greatest Hitman.

No, this is during a time when one Renato Sinclair is out and about, making a name for himself and swiftly becoming a man spoken about in hushed whispers at mafia parties.

 

 

 

 

France isn't his usual territory; he's there for a hit and nothing more. A hit he had accomplished a mere thirty minutes ago. His hotel accommodation is far enough away that no one would think to relate him to that terrible crime scene, but he's in no hurry to rush off. After all, only the guilty run first and fast. Well, the stupidly guilty.

The intelligent guilty party lingers, acts as if it is all a tragedy that will pass from their mind as soon as the country is behind them.

That is exactly what Renato does, it's exactly why he's situated by the hotel's bar, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun upon his skin, shirtsleeves rolled up just past his elbows.

Two ladies walk by, each sending him the usual appreciative looks and Renato offers them a smile in return, a gentle dip of his head that has them giggling behind their hands. While lesser than his homeland in every way, France in the very least has some beautiful women.

Sipping on a White Russian, Renato's eyes slink over his surrounding, searching for any discrepancies. And he finds one. Just, not in the way he'd been expecting.

She's a pretty thing alright, obnoxiously bright red hair and vivid green eyes, all matched up to a pretty face that's gathering more than a few admiring looks.

It's not her features that has him enthralled though; it's the sheer amount of harmony that's bleeding off of her form, not quite visible but the presence is there.

Sky Flames.

The potency of them is staggering; he who has never once been enticed in by a Sky, has always found them too weak, too diluted... but there is just no ignoring this.

She must have only just gone active; he'd have heard of a Sky this strong through the grapevine, no matter the country. He cannot possibly walk away; if she'd just been a pretty face he might have ignored her. There are plenty of other women about, after all, and there are a handful prettier than she present. But those flames...

Placing his empty glass (when had he even necked it all?) down upon the counter, Renato flags down a waitress, gesturing to the Sky sat on her own.

"I'll buy the lady's next drink."

"O-of course, Sir."

He doesn’t turn around again, content to watch her reflection within the bar’s many glasses.

She’s European in appearance, wearing a worn golden tee-shirt a size too large for her, the hem tucked into the waistband of her denim shorts.

It takes three minutes for her to order another drink, and when it’s presented to her, Renato smirks as startled green eyes look to him.

He doesn’t expect her to get up and make her way over to him.

Where are the guardians? Her minder? Her bodyguards? She’s a Sky, a Sky stronger than anything he’s ever felt before but she’s out and about and no protection has descended upon him yet. Why? Is this some kind of trick, a trap set up to reel him in, leave him defenceless?

But then, why risk such a powerful Sky being out in the open? It is not as if Renato has a gentle reputation; he’s a gentleman, he has an appreciation for the ladies, and he’s made it damn well clear what happens to those who cross him.

The more potent than should be possible Sky sits herself down beside him at the bar, one tanned leg crossing over the other and her eyes are even more vivid up close.

“So, the drink… Am I just your flavour of the night?”

Elbow on the countertop, fist cushioning her cheek and a teasing smile wrapped around the straw between her lips, red-hair smiles. She’s opted for French, but there’s a terribly thick British accent overlaying it. Probably the reason why he’s never heard of this Sky before; the British don’t leave their home country all that often, there’s very little underworld presence there when compared against Italy.

“Not at all; more a silent invitation for company. You look awfully lonely on your own.”

Despite the switch to English, her smile becomes a brittle thing, eyes sad.

“I’m a long way from home and I really have no reason to go back. Company would be nice.”

“Ho? No guardians?”

Her brow crinkles in confusion and were he a lesser man, Renato would gawk.

Genuine confusion. This Sky, this Sky that is far from home and not refuting his description of ‘lonely’… doesn’t appear to know what a guardian is, not in respects to her flames… Does she even know about them? Is that why they’re bleeding out so potently, calling to his own, trying to entice them out of his core to join her own in a wonderous dance? He cannot sense the usual undertones, the hidden schemes of those that try to capture him in harmony.

“I’m an adult,” Sky who’s too pure to be true mutters dubiously, “which I hope you realised before buying me a drink.”

Renato barks out a laugh, his shoulder shaking with the sheer absurdity of this whole incident.

“I think we need to have a little chat then, Innamorata.”

 

 

 

 

The lady’s name is Hariel Lillian Potter and she doesn’t have the slightest idea what dying will flames are.

She listens raptly as he explains, drink forgotten by her elbow and Renato doesn’t even feel irritated at the waste of quality alcohol. This is far more important.

The lady stills when informed her very being will draw any and all flame actives to her, figurative moths to a literal flame.

When he admits he has not the slightest clue how she’s slipped under the radar for so long, how she hasn’t signalled down ever last flame active in two hundred or so miles, she gives another one of those brittle smiles.

“I guess there were protections where I was,” she murmurs, tucking one wavy lock behind her ear, the stress of her situation clear in the slouch of her slender shoulders. The wide collar of her shirt as dipped to one side, exposing a sharp clavicle, intersected by the thin black strap of the bikini top beneath.

“Is it not possible to return to them? Or devise more protections in your new location?”

“Not really. I don’t know how to do that and everyone is… no long in a position I can contact them.”

And just like that, the full implications of this hit him head on.

Because Harry is a Sky, the most powerful Sky he's ever felt, and she does not have any guardians. She clearly doesn't have a family (both the blood relations or a Famiglia) from the way she speaks; she's all alone and everything in him says that shouldn't be. That he should not, under any circumstances, leave this woman on her own. It would be so incredibly easy for someone worse than he to take advantage of such a pure Sky, a Sky so thoroughly displaced in the world.

“For how long do you plan on staying in France, Innamorata?”

 

 

 

 

Hariel Potter is staying in a hotel not far from his own. That makes things infinitely easier; not only does he get an excuse to kill time between a hit (get to kill time and not look as if he’s suspiciously fleeing back to the country considered by all lawful personnel as mafia central), but he gets to spend that time with a rather attractive woman who just so happens to be a powerhouse Sky.

Today, Hariel has selected a lovely gold sundress, offset by a thick belt at the waist in a deep red that matches her sandals.

“So, Renato. You think you can show me the wonders of southern France?”

“While it is no Italy, I do believe I can try, Innamorata.”

 

 

 

 

They spend two glorious weeks together, traversing France with little care for any long-term plans, simply living in the moment. They take a yacht out across the ocean, visit the local forts and chateaus, eat out every night at whatever restaurant catches their fancy.

It is on the fifteenth day that Renato realises they’re unofficially dating.

This is not an element courting a Sky, nor a Sky enticing an element. It’s more than that. Harmony (the chance of true harmony that he had long ago resigned himself to being too powerful a sun to ever experience) is right there, all he has to do is just reach out and take hold.

Still, he hesitates.

Hariel, for all that he’s given her a gentle induction to the mafia world (there’s no getting around it, not with flames like that)… doesn’t exactly know that he’s a hitman. He’s well aware of what non-mafia personnel think of his job. Murderer. Even if he’s only the tool, even he’s only the method.

Could he harmonise with Hariel whilst keeping such a thing secret? No. No he could not, not with a clear conscience. Renato might be selfish, but he’s not that self-serving.

But in the end, he’s not the one that pushes that bond over the edge.

 

 

 

 

They’re sitting at a quaint little bar, Hariel perched across from him, sections of her wavy hair burning bright in the summer sum that leaks in through the thatched roof. Her lips are curving up in a smile, wrapped around an obnoxiously bright pink straw of the large cocktail they’re sharing. Personally, Renato has no real preference towards the fruiter drinks, but Hariel does and he’s more than happy to share.

Her flip-flops are on the ground, her bare feet edging back and forth across the wooden legs of her stool, ankle occasionally knocking against his shin.

The blue concoction they’re steadily draining has dyed her tongue a splendidly bright cyan; Hariel laughs when she notices, sticking her tongue out at him before her lips retake the straw, sucking long and slow as she meets his gaze from under half-lidded eyes. It’s incredible how at ease with him she’s become, to the point she fearlessly teases him like this; Renato’s long since kicked his own flip-flops off in order to start slowly trailing his foot up the lower half of her calf.

“Don’t tease.”

“Who said anything about teasing?” Hariel snipes back, sly smile on her lips, now rolling the straw back and forth between the pads of her forefinger and thumb.

With the little plastic spoon, she scoops up a chunk of pineapple, leaving it situated between her teeth, eyebrows raised in a silent challenge.

“Ho? I thought you were running.”

He’s still not sure what she’s running from, if it’s fools that wish to use her or something far more ominous.

This Sky that is so dangerously close to becoming his Sky just wiggles her brows, pushing her lips out ever so slightly, the chunk of pineapple a silent invitation. How can Renato possibly resist?

He leans in, presses his lips against hers and works the fruit free from her, tongue a brief brush against her own.

He doesn’t retreat, just draws his lips back enough that they can speak, noses still nudging against one another.

“I think, maybe, that I want someone to run with now.”

It’s a sudden flood, racing in from nowhere and everywhere at once. Harmony, a sensation unlike anything he’s ever known and a shuddering gasp escapes Hariel, air racing across his wet lips as he releases a surprised breath of his own.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I can say the same thing,” Hariel whispers, something tender and fragile in her eyes. It’s trust, Renato realises. It’s been such a long time since he’s seen that in another eyes, at least when directed at him.

“You don’t know what I do for a living.”

“And you don’t know how dangerous I can be.”

“Ho?”

Pink flesh swipes out to lick at dry lips and then Renato is kissing her again, one hand tilting her chin up as the other rests on the curve of her waist, fingertips brushing the beginning swell of her hip. Her lips hold the sweet taste of their latest cocktail, soft and moist and she feels like home already, this Sky of his.

“I look forwards to finding out.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

They arrive in Italy with little fanfare. All of Hariel's worldly possessions fit into one old fashioned, deceptively light trunk; of course Renato is the one to drag it along, thankful that the luggage comes with wheel.

He has one hand clasped on the handle, the other wrapped up in Hariel's. Her thumb strokes at the knuckle of his forefinger, the skin there rough at the edge, accustomed to the handle of a gun. It's a reoccurring gesture, something that has become a common occurrence between them, a silent reassurance that the other is present, that the bond they'd built is true.

It's not love, not yet. There hasn't been enough time for that; only three weeks have passed.

Yet, it's well on its way, it can potentially become just that. There's a companionship between them, an ease Renato has experienced with no other before.

Hariel Potter sits and she listens, she doesn't rush in head first. Oh, she wants to. He can see it in the way her muscles twitch; what he witnesses, it's a learned reaction. She must have been burnt from one too many headlong rushes.

While her face twists in displeasure as he informs her of his profession, she doesn't flee. Slowly, she comes around to the idea, accepts that he is just the method. If they use Renato or another, his clients will have their target dead, one way or another. She calms significantly when he explains the rigorous process with which he chooses his targets. He doesn't murder innocent men and women, doesn't murder children, innocent or not.

And once that is out of the way, Hariel quietly informs him of her magic.

 

 

 

Curled up in the familiar comforts of his own bed, Renato reaches across the empty space that had once been so much larger, arms wrapping around Hariel's waist.

His eyes linger on the long scar on her back, the one that came about as collateral damage when she was stealing from a dragon.

He huffs beneath his breath, doing his damn best not to smile over the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Hariel hasn’t shared why she's running, but he can make a guess.

They tried to contain the sky, tried to hold a Sky to standards without even offering guardian bonds. From the sounds of it, they'd all had no idea what flames were, didn't know that Skies don't exactly like being told the morals they're supposed to support. Didn't know that Skies are the core and that it is a very bad idea to try and limit their thinking, their development.

It probably didn't help matters that Hariel's flames have a cloudy flavour to them too.

Lips curving up into a smile, Renato reels Hariel in, pressing a closed mouth kiss to the flesh of her shoulder before letting his eyes slowly shut.

In the familiar comforts of his apartment, wrapped up in the snugness of silk sheets and Sky flames, Renato falls back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

That's how things continue, their routine only punctuated by the odd job he takes.

It's not that dislikes taking hits (until recently he had lived for his work), but they take him away from Hariel. She remains in his apartment, having rigged the place with all sorts of magic to prevent others from coming in, from discovering where he lives and (most importantly) that she is there too. That there's a Sky hanging around.

So, he might take hits that can be completed quickly, and he might spend more time than he’d have previously thought reasonable worrying after the little lady.

But his English Sky is always there, waiting for him with a smile on her face and something cooking in the oven. She gifts him her invisibility cloak, citing the fact she doesn't really need it anymore, not when those who'd come looking for her would never be able to reach this world. Renato doesn't ask. It’s a wonderous gift; even the handful of Mists he’s encountered while wearing it haven’t been able to tell he’s there. Truly wonderous.

But he does acknowledge what he's known since the start, despite how much it grates.

Hariel needs more guardians.

This is no life for her, sitting content in his apartment. Yes, she may have no problem with it, but a Sky with a lone guardian is a painful thing indeed, almost as bad as a Sky with no guardians.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact Renato gets twitchy when they're apart, knowing she has no form of protection.

But then, who would he entrust her with? It'd have to be guardians with no substantial ties, ones who don't have extended family that'd want to use his precious Sky. Strong potential guardians that fit such a criteria are... well, the list is exceptionally short.

It’s irritating, beyond irritating, but then Hariel will do something particularly distracting and he’ll forget about it for a little while.

Like right now; he had been considering scouting out a lead on a particularly strong Storm over in China (one well known for his tendency to rescue children and women when not on a job), but then Hariel had planted herself in his lap, crinkling the papers he’d been flicking through.

Head tilting rakishly to consider the petite woman that’s suddenly in his personal space, Renato slowly places the documents to a side, half balanced on the edge of the coffee table. They’ll fall off with the slightest nudge, but he really cannot care less.

There’s something far more interesting in his lap right now.

“How can I help you, Innamorata?”

Hariel grins, green eyes bright and the hands that had been resting on his upper thighs work their way up, outlining his sides, smoothing the crisp material of his shirt out along his ribs until her fingers are working across his shoulders. Then she leans in, lips brushing against his, just a quick teasing peck and he follows after her as she draws back, capturing that lower lip between his teeth, tongue swiping across the soft flesh. She’s wearing some kind of lip-gloss, oranges. It tastes good.

“Put the papers away for a bit, Ren,” she murmurs, thighs tensing slightly where they frame his own and Renato responds by trailing his fingers down the length of her spine.

“Ho? Are you offering to entertain me, Innamorata?”

“Always, Ren. Always.”

 

 

 

He shouldn’t have gotten distracted.

 

Should have kept looking for fellow Guardians.

 

Shouldn’t have gotten lost in the sweet kisses, the teasing winks, the little touches.

 

All those gestures, all those dances between Sun and Sky, it blinded him.

 

 

 

For the six months it lasts, Renato thinks, those six months are the happiest six months of his life.

 

 

 

 

He’s never frozen up before, never gone into shock.

Even his first kill; he’d kept a calm cool head, retreated to a place secure enough that he was safe to come to terms with what had happened.

This isn’t his first kill.

This isn’t the first time he’s lost someone.

But it is the first time (the only time) that his Sky is bleeding out in front of him.

 

His hands have never trembled, not since he mastered wielding his first gun; he’s always been a steady shot. He wouldn’t be able to hit a target three feet in front of him right now.

His knees are shaking; it feels as if the whole world has stopped.

Hariel is on the ground, a huge chunk of her torso missing, and his Sky is bleeding out in front of him. The civilians she’d saved watch on, horrified.

His flames come to his hands too late (it’d been too late the moment she was hit). He presses them into her side too late- it’s all just too late.

His Sky, the one who showed him what Harmony truly is-

She promised him always. Forever.

One finger taps at his mouth; sad green eyes and an apologetic smile.

 

He’s left with the corpse, the corpse of his Sky.

 

 

Even in death those vivid eyes (those eyes that drew him in, one of the very first things he’d noticed outside of her flames) still watch him.

 

 

 

 

Weeks later, it is still whispered about.

The Solar Flare Massacre. The Sun that went supernova as his Sky died in his arms. Who tore apart every last member of a now tabooed family that none dare speak of, who hunted each and every member to the ends of the earth. Of a hitman that earned his title as the World’s Greatest.

The sheer explosion of grieving, raging Sun flames had burned up every last person in the vicinity, had destroyed an entire block of a historic Italian city. Civilian and criminal alike had just ceased to exist.

He’d been the only thing left, left there cradling the cold dead body of his Sky.

 

From there on, it’s six years of mourning, six years of defending his title as the World’s Greatest Hitman. It’s six years of constant job after job because there is nothing left (always is nevermore).

It’s six years of being Reborn, because Renato Sinclair died the same day as the world’s strongest Sky.

It’s six years and a shady invitation that’s accepted, for what else does he have in life now but the job.

 

Then, it’s twenty years cursed.

 

 

 

It’s twenty-six years before Hariel Lilian Potter opens her eyes again, reborn and with another chance to save her Sun.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna rewrite this and, you know, maybe actually finish it this time.  
> I feel like I've got a better grasp on Reborn's character now, so here we go.


End file.
